


Toy Soldiers

by BearSpirit



Category: Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearSpirit/pseuds/BearSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Alice doesn't show up at the beheading so it's up to Anastasia to save Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy Soldiers

Her palms were sweating, her heart was racing and she knew that, whatever mistakes she had made in the past, this was going to be her worst. Below her, a significant crowd had gathered for the execution— she supposed it wasn’t surprising that Will had acquired more than a couple of enemies during his stay in Wonderland— people who wanted nothing more than to see the Knave’s severed head rolling on the floor. And then there were those, like at every other beheading, who had shown up in hopes of catching the head and getting a free dinner. The roar of the masses echoed through her spinning head and she gripped the railing, feeling nauseous.

Why was she doing this again?

The answer to her question stepped into the corner of her vision and she kept her gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge his arrival. “Now where’s that smile?” he asked silkily, and all of Anastasia’s remorse and anxiety dissolved into a feeling of pure loathing. She turned her head to fix a quick glare in his direction. “You know the one. The one that loves a good beheading.”

Clearly he knew what he was doing. What was it he had said? The price of helping Alice in Wonderland? Yeah, right. What Jafar wanted was leverage-- a retribution for her taking the bottle-- but it wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t going to get to her. She leaned in and flashed him her best smile. “It’s right here.”

“Anything wrong, partner?”

The Red Queen’s skin prickled in annoyance, and without skipping a beat she replied, “No. Just you constantly interfering with my affairs.”

In her mind, she pictured him dying a slow, excruciatingly painful death. It was a new exercise she had started to help her manage her temper. Just this morning, she had imagined him tied to a stake and set on fire; it had worked wonders on her mood. But now, not even that was enough to raise her spirits.

“I think it’s your affairs that are interfering with me.” All this dodging and hinting around the subject was grating on her nerves; she had long since grown tired of playing games. Then again, she had started it.

“If you have something to say…” she growled, “spit it out.”

Suddenly, the roar of the crowd grew louder, and Ana turned her head to see two of her guards walk onto the platform, the Knave between them. His hands were tied behind his back and he looked, above all else, afraid. Afraid and defiant, she decided, as he turned and glared up at her, his eyes angry and empty. Her breathing hitched and she tried to keep her expression cold and disengaged, for the sake of any glances Jafar might cast her way (though for the moment he appeared to be preoccupied in watching Will).

Wasn’t this about the time when Alice usually showed up and did something irrational and stupid to save the day? It took her a moment to realize she was waiting for it. _Hoping_ for it.

For the most part, the cheers and gibes of the gathered people were incoherent and blended together, but every once and a while she could make out a phrase:

“Kill the Knave!”

“He deserves this!”

“Off with his head!”

As she scanned the court once more as an excuse to break eye contact with Will, Anastasia noticed a girl standing at the back of the crowd. She looked familiar, even at this distance, and all of a sudden Ana remembered who she was. Brown hair, pointed face and a slightly slouched posture— this was the girl who regularly stole from the Tweedles and thought no one saw her. She alone didn’t join in with the jesting of the crowd; instead she stood staring at the ground, a look of quiet sadness on her face. She was, apparently, the only friend Will had who had bothered to show up for his execution.

The Queen took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the chopping block as the guards jerked Will towards it (while he made an undoubtedly sarcastic comment that she didn’t quite catch).

Killing Will meant there was no going back. If they succeeded in breaking the Laws of Magic and changed the past, she could fix everything. But if something went wrong (which was likely to happen, the Laws of Magic were unpredictable enough as it was without having to trust that Jafar would keep his word), then dead was dead and she was left living with the fact that she had killed her former love in cold blood for the sake of _pride_ , and a foolish notion that she could erase all her mistakes. She couldn’t do this; it wasn’t worth the risk. How far was she willing to go to change the past?

The executioner walked up the steps, axe raised and face covered. If she was going to call this off, now was the time. She sucked in a breath, about to give the orders when a thought passed through her mind and made her hesitate.

The Mad Hatter. She had gone to see the Mad Hatter for tea. He had a scar, she recalled, running the entire circumference of his neck, from where his neck had been severed from and later restored to the rest of his body. And Cora had shown her how.

_Cora had shown her how._

She had never used such a spell herself, as it had seemed to her at the time a rather useless trick— if she was going to behead someone, chances are it was because she wanted them to be dead. But now… now it was her best option. Better late than never, she might just have the perfect solution.

Ana bit her lip anxiously: long-distance magic had never been her strong suit. She focused her attention on the blade that was being positioned above Will’s neck, held her breath and flicked her wrist, careful to keep her movements obstructed from Jafar’s sight. There was no confirmation that it had worked— no flash of light like with some spells, no dramatic gush of wind. All she could do was hope she had succeeded as she now began to coordinate the severing of Will’s head with the sleeping spell she cast on him.

\--------------------

_“Knave.”_

Will woke slowly and painfully to a throbbing ache in his neck and a high-pitched, anxious voice in his ear. As he felt a series of light, rapid taps on his shoulder, he groaned loudly and rolled over, rubbing his neck in a vain attempt to soothe the searing pain he felt there. It was a strange sort of sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was overwhelming and centralized and paralyzing. It took him a moment before he was able to wiggle his toes. The closest possible analogy he could make was that it felt as though someone had taken a blade and sliced his head clean off his body.

_Oh._

The memories of the execution, of his face pressed into the wooden platform that smelled oddly of watermelons, it all came flooding back. At first he felt confusion, then anger as the realization washed over him. The Queen had saved his life. _What gave her the right?_

What gave her the right to show him mercy, after all these years of suffering she had caused him? What gave her the right to sent him back to this godforsaken little town in Maine? What gave her the right to decide his fate?

“I brought you back to where I found you, but you’ll have to walk from here. You’re too heavy.”

Will glanced around. He was at Granny’s. There was a huge, smoking hole in the center of the floor, running right through Widow Lucas’s poor attempt to cover up the last one.

“Rabbit,” Will said slowly, swallowing back the pain it took him to speak, “Take me back. I want to go back.”

“You can’t. Everyone thinks you’re dead, and frankly I think it’s best to keep it that way.”

“I promised Alice I’d help her get her genie back.”

“She thinks you’re dead too.”

“Why aren’t I?” Will snapped abruptly. He felt dead. He wanted to be dead. Why should he have to keep living, when he had nothing left to live for? The White Rabbit didn’t answer, so he repeated, “Rabbit, why aren’t I dead?”

“I… I don’t know,” the rabbit admitted. “Just be grateful that you aren’t.”

Is that what she wanted? Gratitude? Or was she just trying to convince herself that she had made up for what she’d done to him? Was he supposed to feel lucky that she had spared him peace and oblivion for a life of emptiness, broken bottles and emotional numbness? He could still hear the desperation of his own voice as it echoed off the walls of the Red Queen’s dungeon: _Kill me_. It wasn’t a challenge, it was a plea. _End this. Put me out of my misery. Please, just kill me._

God knows he didn’t have the guts to off himself on his own.

And for just one moment, he had actually believed she would. Whatever was after this life, it had to be better than where he was now. And as the blade descended on him and the world started to go black, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time. Hope.

But then he had woken up, back in his regular, routine old life. Back in the only place he hated more than Wonderland. Storybrooke.

There was a reason he had gone through the rabbit hole and returned to the land full of debts, enemies, and painful memories, and it wasn’t for Alice and Cyrus, or even for the wish he had been promised in payment. The real reason he had gone back to Wonderland was terrifyingly unexplainable. It scared him because he no longer felt anything for Anastasia besides bitterness and anger, and yet (he came to this realization only as he was looking through the Knot at her form in the projection) he had found his way back to her. _For_ her.

Screw her.

“I’m late,” the rabbit said as he glanced at his pocket-watch in alarm, racing towards the portal he had dug through the diner tiles. “The Red Queen will wonder what’s keeping me.” He paused, briefly, and turned to look at Will over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Knave.” He tipped his hat and then he was gone.

And just like that, everything was back to the way it used to be. The emptiness in his chest. The television. The alcohol. The apartment he could barely scrape together enough money to afford. The only difference was now he had a dreadful ache in his neck as well.


End file.
